The Other Side
by Flippzy The Edward Slayer
Summary: Fred has been dead for a while now, George has no one to turn to, and all hope seems lost...or is it?  There will be slight GeorgeXHermione and FredxOC
1. The Dead Speak

**AN: Hello all! Flippzy here again, doing my own thing with the stories, and the Mary Sues, and the awesomeness! Okay, so I decided to go with a different approach with my fan fictions. Once again, I'm doing a Harry Potter story, and yes, it's gonna be Hermione with a Weasley Twin, but with a total twist. Fred is, unfortunately, dead in this one, but don't worry! He's in here, as well : ). Afterall, the dead need to go SOMEWHERE, and since I'm not a big fan of the whole heaven and hell thing…well, why don't you just read for yourselves, this Author's note is already unnecessarily long, and would probably take up a chapter if I so choose, but I'm not gonna do that because I respect you guys too much to make this author's note too long and-*gets some angry and impatient glares from the characters in the story and shuts up immediately* **

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own the Characters of Harry Potter, nor the plot lines of Dr. Who and Full Metal Alchemist, but man, wouldn't it be great if I did? Um..on second thought, never mind. **

**Chapter 1: The Dead Speak**

I never know what to write in a diary. It always just comes out either too poetic and dramatic, or something bland like "Went to school, ate lunch, took a siesta, played video games, bye." I mean, where's the fun in that? Then again, isn't that what a diary is for?

I don't think so.

I probably should have started this by telling you who I was, seeing as how this is my story, or at least, a story from my point of view.

My name is Kayla Jones, and I am dead.

Well, at least I THINK I am. I mean, I have memories from a past life, and how I died, but here I am, dropped off in a world completely different from my own, kind of like a form of reincarnation, or something. Thing is, I have my old memories, but they're kinda locked away, and it seems like I'm the only one who can unlock it. I've tried talking to other people about my strange memories and dreams, but they either brush me off or say that I'd make a wonderful story teller some day. Only one person believes me: Fred Weasely, my next door neighbor.

He likes to tell me about how he always feels like a part of him is missing; like he's only half there. He once told me that he'd been having dreams about there being two of him, like a twin brother. In fact, it was EXACTLY that. He says that his "twin" visits him quite often in his dreams, and there's that awful story about how he "died." Such a tragic story, but again, not mine to tell.

The way _I_ died isn't as dramatic, nor as heroic as his. My death was out of self-pity and cowardice. You see, when I dream of my death, all I see is a note, a chair, and a long, thick rope hanging from the ceiling, my neck at the end of it. Yes, it's true, I'd committed suicide, though for what reason, I'm not quite sure of.

I've yet to tell Fred of my cowardly "escape" from the world, seeing as he'd probably just call me a stupid "Muggle" again (whatever that means.) He's always talking about magic as if it were real, and talking about all these hair-brained inventions that seem like they'd be a wonderful prank or joke. I think that fits him perfectly, but I just don't understand how he can believe in something that isn't there…then again, I should be asking myself the same question. Maybe I'm not dead, and maybe the dreams I'm having are just that, dreams.

But, I've got nothing else to believe in or look forward to, so why not think this way? If I didn't, what else would I believe in?

_**~~Meanwhile, on the "Other Side"~~**_

NORMAL POV:

George looked at the grave stone with clouded eyes. It'd been almost a year since the war ended, and almost a year since his other half had been ripped away from him. All he could think of were the "What If's" and how it should have been HIM, and not his brother, his best friend, his twin.

Lately, he'd been having strange dreams about Fred. He'd been having constant nightmares about his twin, anyway, but these were different from the death scene that used to play over and over in his dreams.

As of late, the dreams were about his brother looking at him in awe, almost to happy for words, and in a way, he was, because George felt that way. It was his dream, after all, so Fred should be happy to see him, right? What made it strange was the fact that when Fred stared at George, it was almost as if Fred didn't recognize him, but was still happy to see him, nonetheless.

George had begun to make a habit of visiting Fred's grave more often than he used to, just to turn back, completely depressed, because it was still there, and it only proved that his dreams were just that, dreams. Still, he played this sick, sadistic game on himself, just to try and make himself feel better…it never worked. He'd never be satisfied with the facts or reasons of why he was left alone, without Fred beside him.

He stood up once more from the gloomy grave, dusting the top soil from his jeans, he took one more look at Fred's grave, and wiped a stray tear from his eyes before turning away to face reality once more.

**End of Chapter 1**

**AN: Sorry that was so terribly short. It was supposed to just be like an introduction, you know? Kind of like, what's on the other side of the mirror. Also, I apologize for the long-winded author's note at the beginning. Once again, I was just trying to make an introduction. Next chapter will be on the other side, so on and so forth until the plot begins to thicken. Till then, please Read and Review! **


	2. The Dreams

**AN: Okay, here comes Chapter 2. If anyone is confused by the beginning, that's okay, it'll explain itself as the story unfolds. Trust me, I'm just going by what I've been dreaming and plotting!**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter, Dr. Who, or FMA, because they wouldn't be as awesome, if I did. **

**Chapter 2: The Dreams**

"_Fred…"_

Who's there?

"_Fred…where are ya, mate?_

I'm right here…who are you?

"_It's me…Ge-"_

I sat up before the voice could finish. Usually, the dream is a lot more vivid, along with a matching image of myself. I've been having dreams of my twin brother (don't ask me how I know that he's my twin, I can just feel it, alright?), George, for a while now, but tonight was different. I couldn't see him, I could only hear his voice. This was just too weird for me. I had to do _something._ Maybe I should ask Kayla, the girl who keeps saying she's dead, and what not. I know, I probably shouldn't be friends with a crazy girl who goes on and on about how she's still the same person, and should be dead, but isn't for some reason. I should just say that she's off her rocker and be done with her, but I feel the same way.

I'm Fred Weasely, and I am dead.

Well…dead's sort of stretchin' it. I'd like to think of myself being able to dream of another life…with a very vivid and descriptive death scene.

In that world in my dreams, I'm a wizard. I live in a world where magic is possible and in this world, there was a great war. A war against the darkest wizard to ever walk the Earth. The name escapes me, though. Probably because everyone just calls him "You Know Who." ANYWAY, moving along, during this war, we were fighting in what I guess was a castle…more like, what was LEFT of a castle, and I'm laughing at something someone said while shooting spells and curses from my wand (cool, right?).

"_I haven't heard you joke since you were-" _and that was it. I was dead. There was an explosion, a great weight, immense pain, and then…nothing. I was gone.

That's what I usually dreamed about, but tonight, it was all a mere shadow, and only a snippet of George's voice. That part concerned me the most. What if this meant I'd never see him again? Sure, that meant I'd be sane enough to live in this society, but why would I want something like THAT?

There's only one thing I could do in this situation:

"KAYLA!" I shouted from my window, over to a tiny house that was fit for one person to live in. A said person looked right pissed off when she opened her window and glared at me through her sleep-filled eyes.

"What do you want at…._five in the bleeding morning?" _she hissed menacingly as she looked at her watch to confirm the time.

It was funny how she seemed so…familiar at that point.

Maybe it was because I'd grown accustomed to her short, frizzy hair going in many directions from tossing in her sleep, or maybe it was the way she'd scold me like I was a child still living with my parents. Maybe it was because she acted like an insufferable know-it-all one minute, and then surprised people with her sense of humor the next.

Right now, though, she was anything but in a humorous mood.

I jumped through my window (not to far from the ground…a good meter and a half at the most), and crossed the short distance between our yards until I was right in her face. After which, I smiled and said "give us a kiss-"

SLAM!

Annnd then the window slid down, narrowly missing the bridge of my nose, causing me to fall backward. She stood behind the window, her arms crossed and her expression a mix between amused and annoyed. And then she left the window without a word. I slumped my shoulders and turned around, realizing that I'd have to wait until later that day to tell her about my dream.

"Okay, now what do you want?"

I jumped forward from the sound behind me, and my face smacked the window with a thud, and effectively slid down into the grass.

The sound returned, but in the form of laughter.

"Your sympathy is duly noted, Kay."

"Well, that's what you get for shouting my name at this ungodly hour, now what did you want to tell me?"

She looked at me expectantly as I sat up and sighed. "I had another dream…" I whispered.

Now, a normal person would have remained angry, called me a nutter, and then left me outside on the cold, dewy ground, looking like said nutter at the same time. Kayla, however, was anything but normal…er…in the good sense.

Her eyes softened immediately, and before I knew it, she was sitting next to me on the cold, wet grass. "Do you wanna talk about it?" she asked softly.

"There really isn't much to say, except that it was different from the ones I usually have. I barely got out George's name, and I couldn't even see him anymore. All I had was a voice."

Her expression became serious at this. She knew how much this strange connection I had with my "twin" meant to me. It's what kept me thinking that George might really be out there, and that I had really died. It also made me that much more determined to get back to him and our world. All those inventions we'd made together, and the magic. Cor, could you believe that I'm a wizard? That still just seems crazy to me, but I LOVE it! And believe me, this would make my life soooo much easier if this were all true and I really COULD get back there.

Right, getting off subject (**AN: Like I usually do…hehe…sorry**).

Her expression became serious and she stood up, holding out her hand to me to help me up as well. As soon as we were off the wet grass, and our arses felt ten times chillier, she wrapped her arms around me.

"I'm sorry…" she whispered, as my arms went around her waist. She always knew how to make me feel better, no matter how late it was.

"It's alright, I guess. I just don't understand, really. How is it, that we're the only ones that remember these dreams, and why don't other people around here believe us. Seriously, I don't even remember having a family here up until a few years ago, and you didn't recognize any of your so called "friends" who've said they've known you your entire life."

Her eyes became downcast at this, and I knew I had struck a nerve. I grimaced. Kayla had become socially awkward after her friends stopped giving her the time of day. They figured that she was a lost cause, and had gone loopy after waking up from a head injury.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean…"

"No, it's okay," she interjected. She took my hand in hers gently and pulled me into her house so we could get away from the cold. Guess that was the end of THAT conversation.

She turned away towards the kitchen, and I couldn't help but smirk at the large, wet grass stain on the bottom of her pajamas. Normally, like a good "Friend" would, I'd point this out to her, and then proceed to laugh my arse off, but seeing as how I'd be calling the kettle black, I decided to let this one slide.

"Nice pajamas. I especially like the large grass stain you're sporting!"

Or not.

She turned around and glared before sticking her tongue out and handing me some tea.

"You're not one to talk, Weasely. Remember that, or I'll just have to tell your landlord the _real reason_ his cat came back half shaved, and on the verge of a panic attack."

She wouldn't.

You know, for a dead girl, she really could be lively.

Though, you know, to this day, she hasn't told me how she died, but then again, she's just a silly Muggle girl. And I'm a silly Muggle boy…right?

**End of Chapter 2**

**AN: umm, okay, I know this story looks weird right now, but I really know where I'm going with this one, and the only way I can think to expand the plot is to add a few weird, if not OC chapters into the mix. Hopefully the next one is better, yeah? Please review, I feel so lonely : (**


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